


My Mind And Memory

by thisonegoes



Series: Across The Road [3]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Declarations Of Love, Domestic Fluff, Love Letters, M/M, Wedding Fluff, Wedding Night
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-29
Updated: 2014-12-29
Packaged: 2018-03-04 03:19:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,612
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2907362
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thisonegoes/pseuds/thisonegoes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Zayn leans against the window to look out towards the sky. The sun shifts suddenly, breaking through the clouds. The river and rolling hills beyond it are suddenly lit up, green and plush. It's exactly the kind of day they always dreamed about for their wedding. Suddenly Zayn can't wait, his feet won't sit still, as he thinks about the day ahead. He presses a palm to the cool glass and smiles.</p><p>A Catch You If I Can/Don't Make It Bad wedding.</p>
            </blockquote>





	My Mind And Memory

_Then comes marriage..._

 

 

Zayn wakes up to his phone ringing. He groans and rolls over, reaching for it on the table with weak fingers. The table of the hotel he's currently staying in is on the wrong side of the bed, too far away, covered in Starburst wrappers. All that, along with the awful, terrible, no-good sounds emitting from his phone, causes him to groan.  
  
_Why isn't it on vibrate? Since when do I have a fucking ringer?_  
  
That's the first thought Zayn has on his wedding day. His second thought is along the lines of, _what a stupid first thought to have on your wedding day._ He almost smiles to himself, it's such a ridiculous string of consciousness all at once, and if he didn't know any better, Harry's in his very brain right then, dictating it all. It's so stupid, it has to be Harry's fault.  
  
And sure enough, it is.  
  
"Hey," Zayn grunts and smiles at once, wiping at his face, answering in all his groggy glory.  
  
"Hello Mr. Malik," Harry croons over the phone. "I turned your ringer on. This is your official wake up call. Lucky you, huh?"  
  
"This loud shit ringing in my ear? I wouldn't say lucky," Zayn exhales, still smiling.  
  
"Oh you're very lucky. The luckiest. Because, and I don't know if you've heard Zayn, but… you're getting married today. To me."  
  
"To you?"  
  
"Me."  
  
"Since when?" Zayn stretches, pointing his toes. "Did I agree to this?"  
  
Harry laughs into the phone, much too loud for the early hour, and Zayn misses him. He misses their bed as well, the one Harry's probably propped up in at that very moment, with a bowl of fruit and a cup of lukewarm coffee. Harry probably left the fan on because even if he says otherwise, he can't sleep without it now either, a habit of Zayn's he's picked up whether he likes it or not. Zayn can picture all of it: the TV's on low, the sun streaming in through the blinds, his iPad on Harry's thighs.  
  
Zayn turns over in the bed and looks towards the window overlooking the little vineyard. It's gorgeous here, near the wedding venue, but it's not his own bed.  
  
"How are you feeling?" Harry asks, probably biting his thumbnail.  
  
"Tired," Zayn stretches again, not having fallen asleep until well after two.  
  
"Nervous?"  
  
"Not nervous."  
  
"Second thoughts?"  
  
"No second thoughts. Just tired thoughts, promise," Zayn finally gets up and heads towards the bathroom, tugging at his briefs.  
  
"That's good," Harry says in a low voice.  
  
Zayn's just put the toothpaste on his toothbrush when he hears it, that tone of Harry's. The one he used the night before Zayn left for Europe, when they were going to be separated for months, when he was worried for Zayn and worried for himself all once. Harry has that tendency, to carry everyone else's weight, to hold it all up until his knees buckle. He had gotten oddly quiet, reserved and sad, like he was afraid of their inevitable demise, of the unknown. Zayn had to hold Harry against his chest the whole night, and on the way to the airport the next day, with whispered promises and quick kisses to his forehead.  
  
Harry had looked at Zayn that night, with affection and pride, the night before Zayn was about to go off and live up to his potential, to travel around Europe taking pictures. But his eyes were also loaded with grief. It's not something Zayn likes to remember or relive, so hearing Harry now, with a question to his voice, when they're apart, is not how the start of their day should go.  
  
This is their day. Harry's day. The day Zayn's probably been planning for since the day they met, when Harry reached out and almost touched his pictures, with a grin and a hole in his jeans.  
  
Suddenly Zayn remembers, has to remind himself, that Harry took care of him once, when he didn't know what to do. When he was a dumb kid with a new backpack, a loser, a virgin. Zayn's supposed to be the one to take care of Harry.  
  
"Babe," Zayn sets his toothbrush near the sink and looks up at his own reflection.  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
"This is a happy day. The happiest day. Our day. No second thoughts. None at all," Zayn intones, eyebrows creased. "I'm so happy. And so are you."  
  
"No, I know," Harry sighs. "I'm just nervous, maybe."  
  
"I'm nervous too."  
  
"But we're getting married, right? That's normal. We're good, right?"  
  
"We're good," Zayn smiles.  
  
"Don't forget your shoes. Or your suit. Everyone knows when to meet there, so… Oh, and tell Doniya that I left Bahar's basket with your mom. My mom should be meeting your mom any minute, actually. I should call them."  
  
Harry's up, Zayn knows then, pacing or tossing random shit into their closet.  
  
"Babe."  
  
"Don't tell me to relax, I am relaxed."  
  
"Relax," Zayn grabs for his toothbrush again.  
  
"You relax."  
  
Zayn laughs as he brushes his teeth, as Harry flies around their bedroom some more. Zayn distinctly hears the thud of a shoe or four getting thrown at the wall in the closet, and doesn't look forward to the eventual holes he'll have to fill in the plaster. Ever since they moved in together, during Zayn's senior year and Harry's first few months at the record store, Harry has had the tendency to let his stress show through their closet. It's either spotless and organized, or a disaster area.  
  
So Zayn finishes in the bathroom and heads back to the window to look out towards the sky, to wait for Harry to finish.  
  
Eventually the other end of the phone line gets quiet, Harry must settle somewhat.  
  
"It's going to be great," Zayn tries quietly. "Everything will look perfect, everyone will have a blast. And we'll be married."  
  
"I'm excited, babe," Harry sighs. "I can't wait."  
  
"I'll see you later then?"  
  
"I'll be the guy in the matching suit," Harry laughs.  
  
The sun shifts suddenly, breaking through the clouds. The river and rolling hills beyond it are suddenly lit up, green and plush. It's exactly the kind of day they always dreamed about for their wedding. Suddenly Zayn can't wait, his feet won't sit still, as he thinks about the day ahead. He presses a palm to the cool glass and smiles.  
  
"I love you," he smiles, wishing he could see Harry, probably flopped back on their bed, naked. The idiot.  
  
"I suppose I love you back."

  
  
***

  
They decided to do it traditional, their wedding day, except for the parts that aren't. They decided to spend the night apart, to not see each other until the ceremony. They made playlists for each other, to have on their phones as they each get ready. Wrote letters of loving words, to exchange right beforehand. Their closest friends and family standing on both sides, mixed together, in grey suits and cream dresses. A flower girl. A ceremony both of their mothers can cry over.  
  
But they also forged their own wedding day, as they both refused to be the "bride," to be given away like property, to take a name that wasn't theirs. They won't force anyone to listen to a sermon or watch them light a random candle. They won't wax poetic about how they feel for each other, and instead keep it to themselves, in their letters. It'll be simple, a union ceremony done by Harry's childhood friend Lizzie, a girl with a pierced eyebrow and so much love and affection in her heart, you can't help but be moved by her words.  
  
Doniya and Gemma said as much the night before, before the rehearsal dinner, as they both wiped their eyes. Lizzie made even the simplest instructions on how to make the day special into some sort of poetry. They did a quick run-through of where everyone was supposed to walk, Louis and Niall already drunk from the beer they found tucked behind the bar inside the cabin, the beer for the wedding itself. Zayn and Harry couldn't help but laugh at them, their idiot best men.  
  
It's a gorgeous place for a wedding. They fell in love with it, when Anne sent them the link months ago, her coworker having gotten married there the year before. It's a small vineyard not far from Topeka, a little place with a barn and outdoor wedding area. There's an old wooden arch surrounded by greenery and trees, wooden chairs facing it, birds singing in the wind, an aisle lined with ferns. The reception will take place just steps from the wedding itself, under a veranda and inside a small cabin, tables with candles and place settings, homemade menus Waliyha and Safaa spent hours on, a table full of desserts with recipes from both sets of grandmothers. Harry's friend Liam from work will DJ, they're getting the food from their favorite restaurant near their old campus, drinks from Robin's company.  
  
It's going to be perfect, Zayn thinks, as he tugs at his shirt sleeves and looks at himself in the mirror. They each get a room inside the cabin, to get ready and go over everything. To prepare. To reflect. Harry's playlist for him sounds soft coming through his phone in the corner, Stones and Ramones songs, The Sex Pistols and Stevie Nicks and Bruce Springsteen, everything Zayn knew Harry would give him. Zayn specifically asked for nothing cheesy or overly romantic.  
  
"So you won't ruin your makeup, babe?" Harry muffled into his stomach, when they talked about it in May.  
  
Zayn smiles to himself at the memory, as he does up his belt. Louis scrambles into the room, hungover and scruffy, and starts rattling off apologies, asking where his shoes are, if Doniya, Kayan, and Bahar need help, if everything's ready.  
  
Zayn ignores him, as he remembers his reply, how he tugged Harry up to hover over him, to settle against his chest.  
  
"I won't be wearing makeup, thank you very much," he kissed Harry's eyelids first. "But I'd rather not get misty or sentimental like a sap, minutes before I'm supposed to be smiling in front of everyone we know."  
  
"Well," Harry rolled off him, crowding against his side, "I for one want to be a mess before our wedding. I want to cry and reminisce. I want to have puffy eyes and puffy cheeks. I want our wedding photographer to think I'm an idiot, when he takes our pictures."  
  
"Maybe you will," Zayn sighed, closing his eyes. It's something that took him awhile to come to terms with, not being in charge of his own wedding pictures. There's nothing more stressful than a photographer giving up control of his camera, of letting someone else grab the moments. Zayn knew Miguel had it covered. Zayn wouldn't trust his wedding day to anyone else, and definitely paid out the ass for it.  
  
"You won't mind?" Harry pulled him out of it.  
  
"Mind what?"  
  
"Me being emotional? Red eyes in our pictures? Snot on my face?"  
  
"No babe, I won't mind."  
  
Zayn smiles again, tugging on his dark grey suit jacket, snug in all the right places. He thinks of Harry in the next room, of the playlist he made for him. It's full of Josh Groban, the "Titanic" theme, Elton John, The Beatles, Eric Clapton. Soppy, romantic, cheesy as hell. If Harry wants to cry, Zayn can give him the ammo. If Harry wants red eyes and snot, Zayn can give him red eyes and snot. In fact, he looks forward to the pictures. The one they'll hang over their mantle some day. Wherever that may be.  
  
Soon after, he lets Louis grab him, lets him light a cigar to share, like "true gentlemen." They get about two puffs into it when Doniya comes in with Bahar, their noses scrunched in disgust, Kayan with the box of boutonnieres behind them, and it's soon forgotten.  
  
Zayn looks around at them all, at his little group of people, his parents coming in and out, his sisters rushing in to kiss his cheeks a few times, and feels a little misty despite himself.  
  
Maybe Harry knows him better than he knows himself, figured the music would be the least of his problems. David Bowie's voice resounds around them, as Kayan trips over a stray shoe, as Doniya looks like she could murder him for knocking over her purse. Bahar screeches about cake over Louis's buzzing electric shaver in the corner, and right about then, as he looks around at them all, Zayn feels the tug in his stomach.  
  
He thinks he could cry, he really could.  
  
"You good?" Doniya whispers in his ear a moment later.  
  
She steps from behind him, to secure the flower to his jacket, the light one he can't remember the name of. She's so careful as she pins it to the fabric, tongue between her teeth. Her long hair is pinned up somehow, curly and just a little imperfect. Bahar's matches, Zayn realizes.  
  
"I'm good," he touches her elbow as she finishes, patting him, smoothing out his shoulders.  
  
"Nervous?"  
  
"Were you nervous before your wedding?" he crooks an eyebrow at her.  
  
"Fair enough," she winks, both of them remembering Zayn talking her out of vomiting before her own ceremony "just in case."  
  
Zayn looks over as Louis looks up into the mirror, as he rubs at his face, trying to clean himself up in record time. Louis winks at him, like he used to before and during every house party in college, when Zayn's nerves were sky high. Back then Zayn needed his sister, Louis, Harry, before any big event. Lucky for him, today, he has all of them here.  
  
"I'm good," Zayn says in a low voice, gripping Doniya's hand, giving into the rush of emotion. The one tear he'll allow.  
  
He's good. It's all good. This day, their day, is good.  
  
It'll be perfect.

  
  
***

  
Niall's the one to run interference, bless him. He's always been good at that, organizing inevitable chaos, wrangling people in such a way that makes everyone calm. He was the one to get everyone from bar to bar on Zayn's 21st birthday, when Harry got too intense and nervous over the cake getting delivered to the last stop. Niall was the one to tug Zayn's arm, as Zayn tugged Harry's arm, to follow along and keep in a straight line.  
  
So it's Niall who quite literally shoves Zayn's face back behind the door he tries to step out of, his calloused fingers and palm against Zayn's mouth.  
  
"Don't you dare," Niall warns.  
  
"Jesus, Niall," Zayn rubs at his face, completely caught off guard at the assault to his body being thrown back into the room he's just gotten ready in. Zayn's alone now, Louis having run off to find his mom, with just his thoughts, pacing, and he needed fresh air.  
  
"You're not allowed outside that room unless I say so," Niall blows the smoke from his lungs out towards the open double doors leading to the wedding arch. "Harry's already tried to side step me, to say hi to his cousins, and you could've seen him."  
  
Zayn chuckles.  
  
"This isn't funny. You said you didn't want to see each other before the music starts, and it damn well won't happen on my watch."  
  
"Well thank you," Zayn reaches through the crack in the door for his cigarette.  
  
They pass it back and forth a few times, both leaned on either side of the door frame, until the cherry burns bright at the filter. Niall has another ready though, lights the second with the first, and Zayn's thankful for him, for all of them, all over again.  
  
"It's almost time, anyways."  
  
"It is?" Zayn almost squeaks, coughing a little on the smoke escaping through his nose.  
  
"Not for the wedding," Niall rolls his eyes. "People are still arriving. I mean for the letter exchange or whatever."  
  
"Oh yeah."  
  
"I'll bring you to his door, since you're so keen on getting into the fresh air. You can stand on this side of it and do your thing."  
  
"Thanks," Zayn nods, feeling for the letter in his breast pocket.  
  
Niall glances to him, takes the cigarette back and inhales, with a smirk. Niall's been with Harry all morning, the Louis of the second room, as it were, probably gave Harry a similar cigar to cough over. Zayn hopes his lungs are okay.  
  
"He's cried four times," Niall smiles.  
  
"Good," Zayn smiles back.  
  
"And you?"  
  
"None."  
  
Niall blinks.  
  
"Okay, once."  
  
"He said he wouldn't marry you if you hadn't cried at least once, so. I guess I can report back," Niall winks.  
  
Zayn punches his arm as he walks away.  
  
"Don't you dare come outside, Malik. I'll fuckin' kill you."  
  
So Zayn doesn't. He closes the door and stays put, fingers at the curtain over the tiny window overlooking the wedding arch and chairs. He can see the place filling up, everyone sitting on either side of the aisle, grabbing for the antique handkerchiefs Harry found in Florida. Zayn had been there in April, with one of his old professor's colleagues, taking portrait after portrait of the locals. The towns near the Keys had been flooded from a storm and Zayn couldn't help it, couldn't help asking almost every person he saw for a tour of their lives, for permission to capture them. Harry surprised him twice that month, showed up at his little motel room with wine and pictures from home, before exploring on his own day after day while Zayn worked.  
  
That's _why_ they work, Zayn realized all over again. They each had dreams, ambitions, things that made them tick even when the other wasn't around. Zayn could spend weeks in random places, taking pictures, capturing stories. Harry could spend months in a studio, writing songs, expressing emotions. But they always came back to each other afterwards and on days off, seeking warmth and guidance for whatever was next.  
  
Zayn misses Harry again, and it's only been a day since he last saw him. But he absolutely refuses to cry more than once, so he grabs for his phone and turns up "Ruby Tuesday."

  
  
***

  
"You're a dick," Harry calls through his wooden door of the small cabin.  
  
"Hey babe, you asked for it," Zayn thrums his fingers on either side of the door frame, resting his forehead against it.  
  
"I said I wanted to be emotional before our wedding, Zayn. Not that I wanted to be curled in a ball, crying my eyes out over that song Clapton wrote for his dead kid."  
  
Zayn can't help but laugh at the thought, Harry in his nice suit, holding Niall's hand, wailing about Zayn being "far too literal for his own good." Niall probably patted his cheek and rubbed his hair, careful not to mess it up, the two songwriters commiserating together over the lyrics. Niall leans against the cabin and confirms it, as he laughs as well.  
  
"Alright boys," Louis calls, walking towards the cabin. "Time to get a move on."  
  
"Is it almost time?" Harry yells out from behind the door, frustrated at being kept away from it all.  
  
"I've been instructed by the mothers to bring you soon," he sighs, pulling a flask from inside his jacket. "Zayn and I will go first, bring Trisha and the girls to the front. And then Niall will grab Harry, to bring up Anne and Gemma."  
  
Zayn nods, fingers digging into the door slightly. It's almost time. It's so close now. He looks behind him and can see the wedding arch, the music drifting through the trees, the aunts and cousins and Pavris all fanning themselves. It's a warm June this year.  
  
"Go on, then," Niall shoves off from the cabin, taking Louis's flask, pulling his arm away. "Three minutes."  
  
They're alone, finally. It's their wedding and they're alone, just on either side of a door. Zayn can practically feel him, the warmth that radiates off Harry like a furnace. Like he's been basking in the sun for hours.  
  
"What song?" Zayn says into the wood.  
  
"'Tiny Dancer,'" Harry says into the wood from his side, voice muffled, either from the door, or his crying. Zayn's not sure which.  
  
Zayn can almost hear it, can almost hear the piano from inside the room. It's a good song for this, he decides. So he grabs for the letter inside his jacket and cracks the door slightly. Harry's left hand comes from behind it, a letter between his fingers, as the chorus kicks in behind Elton's voice.  
  
It's a quick exchange, a letter for a letter, until Zayn's holding the last piece of Harry's puzzle. The last thing they'll exchange as boyfriends or fiances, whatever they are, before their left hands are decorated with rings.  
  
"If you don't cry, this is it," Harry says, voice clearer now that the door is open an inch.  
  
Zayn reaches for his hand, intertwining their fingers near the handle, wishing he could see him. He reminds himself that he will, soon enough.  
  
"Shush," he laughs. "Read your letter."

  
  
***

  
_Dear Zayn,_  
  
_As you well know, I'm quite the dreamer. I see things in front of me, sure. And I can focus on the here-and-now, when I need to. I like to think I'm present and can appreciate things as they happen. But I also look ahead as well, to the future, to my life in x number of years, imagining where I am. Where I'll be. The things I'll have accomplished._  
  
_I planned for you before I ever even met you, you know. I was a twerp little freshman, wondering when you'd show up, the man I'd marry some day. I flirted and tugged on hands, asking with my eyes, is it you? But no one ever mattered, no one ever looked at me to ask the same thing. I told myself to wait for the person who wanted everything I could give. And then there you were._  
  
_Zayn Malik, cool and collected, with pictures on his wall and a camera around his neck. You were beautiful. Perfect. It took you some time, and then suddenly you were looking at me like I was beautiful too. Like maybe I could be perfect, for you._  
  
_That's what Doniya said to me. I don't think I've ever told you that. When I got her number from Louis, when I freaked out about you leaving that first winter break. I was an anxious wreck, thought I'd ruined everything. I told her I was crazy for you, insecure that you'd never want me, afraid as hell. And she said it, with a laugh even, that I was perfect for you, before laying out how to peel you apart, piece by piece, like an orange. You opened right up when I told you how I felt. And I think I knew then, that we'd end up here. I really think I knew, deep down._  
  
_So here we are, years later, on our wedding day. We're getting married, Zayn! You and me! Can you believe it? Sometimes I can't. Sometimes I still feel like we're those two kids in your dorm room, tucked up in your bed, falling asleep before our early morning classes. Sometimes I still feel like we're in our first apartment, the one with shitty water pressure, the one where we broke the tiles in the shower. But we're here. We're finally here._  
  
_Sometimes I wonder where we'll end up. I dream about us years from now, where we'll eventually land. I can't see all the details, I can't see the city or the house, not yet. But we're so happy, babe. We're so happy, it's disgusting. Louis and Niall are yelling at us, years down the line, for being sappy and sweet._  
  
_I can't wait._  
  
_So let's do this, freshman. Let's go get married, okay? We won't be nervous or scared. It's just us, finally putting it on paper. We won't trip over our feet or stumble our words. I'm sure of it._  
  
_It'll all work out, right?_  
  
_I love you to the moon and back._  
  
_Harry_

  
  
***

  
_H -_  
  
_I'll keep this brief because the last thing we need is you crying even more than you already have. I wouldn't be surprised if you started the second you were handed this, when you saw my chicken scratched HARRY on the envelope. You always said you loved my handwriting, and God knows how much you love the way I make my capital H. Your H, right?_  
  
_All my letters are yours now, I suppose._  
  
_Because today we're getting married. I thought about it earlier, you know. Every letter and every word I ever write, will all be laced with you. Every time I write a Thank You note, from today on, will be from us both. Every handwritten message or RSVP or holiday card, every word I write, will be ours. Just imagine: I'll leave whatever note we need to send out, birthday cards, or important tax forms, on our kitchen table, and I'll tell you to sign them before you leave, which you'll forget to do. I'll end up signing for you, for us, and that'll be that. You have better handwriting, your sentences come together better than mine, you're a goddamn writer and everything, and sure enough, I'll be the one to write it all. I kind of can't wait, to be honest._  
  
_But even more than that, every time I leave a Post It for you on the fridge, every message I leave in a fogged mirror or frosted window, every time I write something into your back with my finger, every letter, will be yours. Crazy, right?_  
  
_So before I forget, make sure to look on the inside of your ring. Later tonight, after the reception and toasts and dancing, when we're in the car on the way to the hotel. Take off your ring and you'll see it._  
  
_Those letters, and every letter from today on. They're all yours, babe._  
  
_I love you and I'll see you soon._  
  
_Z_

  
  
***

  
Well.  
  
After they each sloppily shove the letters back into their envelopes, they're both crying. Quite hard, in fact.  
  
They're not nervous anymore, either of them. They hold hands through the crack in the door, until Louis and Niall come back, rolling their eyes.

  
  
***

  
Louis keeps a hand on Zayn's lower back as they head towards the guests. Zayn can feel eyes on him, hears Miguel snapping away to his right, knows the music has changed to alert everyone that the grooms are on their way. Luckily he doesn't falter or trip, but it's nice, like old times, with Louis there to guide him. His mom and younger sisters stand near the guestbook, waiting, smiling, as Doniya waves to him from up near Lizzie. She had walked first, along with Kayan and Bahar with her flower girl basket. His dad and uncles are situated in the front row, all too proud to be emotional, and yet all on the verge of crying.  
  
"Do you need my flask?" Louis whispers with a laugh, the closer they get, the grass crunching slightly under their feet.  
  
"No, I'm good," Zayn elbows him.  
  
"You're my best friend," Louis finishes, like he said all those years ago, before Zayn's first party.  
  
They hug, quickly yet fiercely, before Louis walks his way up the aisle towards the front. He'll be on Zayn's side, right next to him as it happens, thankfully.  
  
Zayn exhales as he grabs his mom's hand, as the girls walk ahead of him. He leads them towards the front, down the aisle lined with chairs and green leaves, cream flowers running up the arch, the ones Harry said would look good with the green backdrop of the outdoor setting. As always, he was right. Zayn can't help but think it all looks so good, so them, rustic and simple. Harry and Niall wrote music special for the occasion, a few of their friends to the right playing a violin and guitar, and it's perfect. It has Harry all over it.  
  
Zayn kisses the girls, hugs his dad for a beat too long, and then suddenly he's under the arch. His old anxiety could rear its ugly head then, but he squashes it fast as anything as Louis squeezes his shoulder and Lizzie leans in to kiss his cheek. This is it.  
  
It's hard to say in that moment, as the music shifts to an Elvis instrumental, if time freezes entirely. Harry would probably say so, and he does, every time anyone asks him, what it's like. To see your better half, on the other end of an aisle, a wedding aisle. If Zayn could form a thought, he'd probably say that yeah, it does all stand still.  
  
To prepare himself, Zayn read up. After they did the initial coin toss, to see which of them would be next to Lizzie, the one to walk up first, he looked it up online. To see how he'd feel. He read that it was like time freezes, that your body tenses, as it all washed over you, that yeah, it's happening, and yeah, this is the person who luckily chose you.  
  
But Zayn needed more than that. He asked his dad to see what it was like, for him to see Trisha in her wedding dress, on her dad's arm, walking towards him. Yaser said it's indescribable, that you don't know what to do with the image until it's happening to you, in real time. And if Zayn could look at any other human being besides Harry Styles right then, he knows it would be to find his dad's eyes. To nod and agree, to share the moment.  
  
But he can't look away, as Harry walks towards him, Anne and Gemma on each arm. Harry's face practically splits in two, absolutely giddy, smiling, crying. He's as beautiful as ever, hair curled around his ears, eyes bright, in his matching grey suit, matching flower on his chest. He does the same as Zayn though, pulls his eyes away to hug his mom and sister, to let Robin and Des each grip him tightly.  
  
And then he's there. They're there.  
  
Zayn turns to him as Harry steps under the wooden arch, their hands finding their way together quick as anything, close, so close. Zayn's eyes bounce across Harry's face, his mouth and eyes and cheeks, the wind blowing his hair just so. He's looked at this ridiculous frog face almost every day for the last six years, and suddenly it's like the first time.  
  
Harry squeezes his fingers, hard, and crosses his eyes. Zayn laughs, just a quick huff, as they both shake their heads to pay attention.  
  
Lizzie starts off and welcomes everyone, the guests taking their seats. She welcomes them on behalf of Zayn and Harry, reads off the words Harry wrote, the ones he stressed over for weeks, in nothing but his boxers, as Zayn watched. They both have it all memorized by now, so Zayn doesn't feel bad for zoning out.  
  
It's just a lot to take in, the fact that they are literally getting married right that second. They're joining together, emotionally, legally, in front of every person who ever mattered. They're ready for it, they've been ready for as long as Zayn can remember, and it's perfect.  
  
"Zayn and Harry, are you ready?" Lizzie pulls Zayn back, smiling.  
  
Zayn looks at Harry nodding, so he follows along and nods. Then he gets the tug on his arm. In a daze, Zayn feels his body being turned by Louis, a silver wedding band suddenly in his palm. He looks behind Louis's head, to see Doniya crying and Kayan smiling and Bahar giggling, before being turned back to Harry. Niall does the same for Harry, a smile on his face, and every face on Harry's side, Gemma and Andrew and his cousin Matt. Now it's really happening. It's perfect.  
  
"Zayn?" Lizzie nods.  
  
Right, Zayn remembers. He's got this. He grabs Harry's left hand and exhales.  
  
"Harry, you're my best friend," Zayn slides the ring on his finger. "I promise to love you and keep you safe. I promise to lock the door behind me, whenever I leave or come home, because I know if I don't, it'll drive you nuts. I promise to sing when I cook dinner, because you like that. I promise to laugh at your jokes. I promise to be your partner, for as long as we both shall live."  
  
Harry's crying again, like he ever stopped in the first place, but he really does look a mess. _He wanted snot, he got snot,_ Zayn thinks to himself with a wet smile of his own. It's like everyone watching is crying, collectively, which is sort of sweet.  
  
"Harry?" Lizzie nods again, crying along with them.  
  
"Zayn, you're my best friend," Harry croaks, working the identical silver band onto Zayn's finger. "I promise to love you and keep you safe. I promise to let you be in charge of every map, of every road trip we take, because I get us lost too often. I promise not to touch your camera unless you say so. I promise to only tell funny jokes. I promise to be your partner, for as long as we both shall live."  
  
Harry, ever the comedian, gets a few chuckles from his vows. Zayn laughs along with them and grabs both of Harry's hands again, tight.  
  
"Alright boys, you sure you want to do this?" Lizzie smiles, the entire place erupting in laughter.  
  
Zayn looks right into Harry's eyes and smiles.  
  
"I do."  
  
Harry winks right back at him and smiles in return.  
  
"I do."  
  
"Then by the power vested in me, by the renowned and revered OneMinuteMinister.com, I now pronounce you husband and husband," she claps, jumping up and down a little, her black dress blowing in the wind.  
  
Harry drops their hands to reach for Zayn's lapel, pulls them together, and kisses him first, just like he did all those years ago in front of a white backdrop. Applause erupts around them, the music swells, and Harry holds Zayn up, keeps them together, until Zayn gets his arms working again to grab for Harry's face. It's the best kiss he's ever had, Zayn decides, his first kiss with a ring on his finger. With the last person he'll ever kiss for the rest of his life.  
  
"Been wanting to do that since I saw you in a towel," Harry smirks against Zayn's lips.  
  
Zayn doesn't trust his voice, so he doesn't say anything.  
  
He smiles though.

  
  
***

  
It's all a little dizzying after the ceremony itself is over. Niall and Lizzie organize everyone for pictures, as most of the guests head towards the reception and open bar. Harry with the Styles, Zayn with the Maliks, then the two families together. Zayn and his sisters. Harry and Gemma. Zayn tries his best to keep his mouth shut, to not tell Miguel what to do, where to stand and how to capture the light. Louis has to pinch his arm when he looks like he'll reach for Miguel's camera, and he's grateful for his friend yet again.  
  
Harry pulls Zayn by the hand around the reception, to shake hands and hug each guest, to thank them all for coming. Harry makes sure to say many of their guests' names out loud, for Zayn's benefit, for the people he doesn't know as well. Zayn whispers thank you over and over again, right into Harry's ear.  
  
They didn't realize how hungry they were, until dinner's served and suddenly they're ravenous. They eat ribs, potatoes, and beans with gusto, because Harry had said there's nothing worse than pretentious wedding food. They drink beer from specialty beer glasses Gemma found online, with _Mr. & Mr._ etched on them.  
  
Louis and Niall give a joint speech as the best men, already tipsy from Louis's flask and the vodka sodas they pounded since right after pictures were taken. It's more embarrassing for them, revealing the ridiculous things they know about Zayn and Harry, the little things they've picked up over the years about their personalities. Niall only gets a little sappy towards the end, when he says he knew Zayn was Harry's one-and-only after their first date, when Niall yelled through the house that the boyfriends were back, and Harry didn't even smack him for it.  
  
Louis flat out cries though, much to Zayn's surprise.  
  
"Harry was my best friend first," Louis hiccups, raising his glass a little. "And then Zayn came along, weaseled his way right in, the bastard. Now I got two best friends. Three, if you count the strapping blonde to my left. And now here we are, they're married, and we're all better people for knowing them."  
  
Louis wipes his face.  
  
"Alright, that's it. Cheers, boys. Be good to each other."  
  
Everyone claps and drinks, Harry kisses Zayn again, before they both get up to hug their friends.  
  
Then Gemma and Doniya give a speech together, whining about going second, before both crying through it. The people towards the back of the reception can hardly understand their gargled words, but Zayn and Harry hear it all. More hugs. More drinks.  
  
Zayn can't really catch his breath, as they head into the cabin to cut the cake, to take more pictures with frosting on their chins. They hold hands and continue around the reception, to kiss cheeks and hold more relatives' hands. At one point, in the middle of a conversation with his dad and uncles, Zayn looks across the party and sees Harry with Bahar in his arms. She's 8 now, beautiful like her mom, strong like her aunts, and she kisses Harry's cheek.  
  
Zayn catches Harry's eye and winks.  
  
Harry winks right back.

  
  
***

  
Their first dance is just as ridiculous as Zayn envisioned it to be. It starts with Liam announcing over the speakers that everyone should gather around the dance floor. Zayn, with Bahar on his lap, rolls his eyes. It's the one thing he didn't look forward to.  
  
But Harry comes to him, grips Bahar to tickle her, before moving her away and holding out his hand.  
  
"Up."  
  
"Do I have to?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"You sure? I might murder your toes, babe," Zayn frowns.  
  
"You heard me. Up," Harry grabs his hand, pulling hard.  
  
Harry leads them, of course he does, to that old Ed Sheeran song about growing old together. _No surprise there,_ Zayn thinks, as his hands grip the fabric of Harry's shirt. They shed their suit jackets earlier, and it's easier now, to feel Harry's warmth through his shirt, the one with the buttons undone, his tattoos showing. Zayn looks down at his forearms, the ink in his skin for everyone to see, the ink Harry inspired him to get over the years, and it's perfect.  
  
He doesn't step on Harry's toes, Harry keeps him moving just enough so they're not standing still, and doesn't try to dip him. That was a condition, that they just stay close and sway a little. Zayn buries his face into Harry's chest, grateful.  
  
The song shifts to an instrumental bit, to just a guitar and soft bass. Their friends and family crowd around them, all taking pictures on their phone, Miguel propped up near the DJ, snapping away.  
  
"You love me?" he hears Harry ask, a smile against his temple.  
  
"I guess so."  
  
"S'good."  
  
"You love me, so I guess I need to love you back," Zayn says on an exhale, giving into the cheese of it all, suddenly exhausted.  
  
Harry laughs into Zayn's hair, and it's perfect.

  
  
***

  
They're in the back of the car on the way to the hotel, when Zayn's eyes almost slide shut. He has Harry leaning against him, Harry's hand on his thigh, and he's so tired, he barely registers the sound of the partition rising ahead of them.  
  
Getting out of the reception was like trying to navigate a difficult maze. There were arms reaching for them, hugs from family members at every turn. Bahar didn't want to let Zayn go, kept her little arms around his neck for a good ten minutes, before she'd let him put her down. Doniya cried into his shoulder about a hundred times, Niall kissed his cheek just as many, and Louis wouldn't let Harry get into the car without a long hug. They were both a mess at the end of it, as Zayn pulled at Harry's arm.  
  
But it was all out of love, so many drunk friends cat-calling them as they pulled away down the dirt road, Zayn and Harry each stuck their heads out the window with smiles on their faces. Zayn's parents held hands as they waved, Gemma had her arms around Zayn's sisters.  
  
Harry reminded him, as the driver turned onto the main road, their idiot friends still had another ten minutes of the open bar. By now, the two of them were a distant memory in their drunken minds, partying it up for awhile longer.  
  
But now, it's just them, on their way to a hotel. Their wedding day is officially coming to a close, just as fast as Zayn's eyelids.  
  
"Excuse me, sir," Harry grips Zayn's thigh. "Wasn't I promised a certain something? By a certain someone?"  
  
Zayn's head rolls on the seat, to his right, to glance at Harry, a smile dancing on his face. He did, in fact, promise Harry three days prior that he'd blow him in the car after their reception. He said it while between Harry's thighs, the soft skin there against his lips. Harry pulled his hair harder, breathing too harshly through his nose, and came across Zayn's face.  
  
"Did I?" Zayn mocks surprise, already sliding off seat.  
  
Harry's hands hold onto his shoulders as he settles between his legs. Zayn has Harry's fly down and open in no time at all, even through the haze of beer and champagne and exhaustion, a hand around his half hard cock just as quickly.  
  
"You gonna come on my face again?" Zayn licks at him, running Harry across his bottom lip.  
  
"Yeah," Harry huffs.  
  
"But I got so pretty for our day," Zayn sighs, like he's disappointed. "Did my makeup and everything."  
  
Harry just shoves Zayn's mouth on his cock, both of them holding in a laugh. And that's how they technically finish off the night, right as it hits midnight, with Harry's cock down Zayn's throat. Their wedding day ends with Harry's fingers ruining Zayn's hair, nails digging into his skin, Zayn's spit on Harry's pants.  
  
But then it occurs to Zayn.  
  
"Wait," he grunts, spit down his chin. "You have to look at your ring."  
  
"Right now?" Harry whines, sweat along his upper lip.  
  
"Yes, now."  
  
Harry groans, actually groans like he does when the Packers lose, and throws his left hand up towards his face. He slides his new silver band off, right as Zayn sits back and admires the view, Harry with a wedding ring. Zayn sees the grin spread across Harry's face, at not only seeing the engraving, but at Zayn spreading his fingers over his cock to keep him hard.  
  
"Good?" Zayn asks, gripping Harry tighter.  
  
"Aw babe," Harry looks to him. "So sentimental in your old age."  
  
"Says the guy nearing thirty in a few years."  
  
"Mean."  
  
"Honest."  
  
They both remember it like it was yesterday, their very first conversation. The way Zayn stood up to Harry, the way Harry laughed with a hand on his belly and uttered those fateful words, the "I think I like you, Zayn." It was no trouble at all, for Zayn to come up with words of his own, for Harry's ring.  
  
_I think I like you, too._  
  
So there it'll sit, inside Harry's ring, against his skin. Forever and always, and all that shit.  
  
Zayn indulges Harry again and dives back in, sucks at the head and flicks his tongue at the slit. He sinks down, sucks hard and fast, just how Harry taught him in that library all those years ago, waiting for Harry's final tense-up. It's as Harry runs a finger across his cheek, to remind him to look up, that Zayn decides all over again that if he'll only ever suck one dick in his life, he's glad it's Harry's.  
  
Harry reads his mind, of course, when they lock eyes.  
  
"You gonna be happy with just me?" he exhales, close. "Just me in your mouth, huh. Only me."  
  
Zayn tries to nod, but instead sucks harder. And then suddenly, Harry pulls his hair to pull him off. He comes into Zayn's open mouth, dripping with saliva, on his lips, his cheek, even his eyebrow. Zayn takes it, lets himself be painted up good, as Harry watches with wild eyes.  
  
They smile afterwards, when Zayn crawls up into Harry's lap, to get a hand in his pants to tug himself off with Harry's dirty words in his ear.  
  
It's perfect.

  
  
***

  
They almost miss their flight to Cancun the next morning. They tell their parents it's because of a late start, because they left late and hit traffic, but really, they just fucked twice in the hotel shower and lost track of time.  
  
They almost broke the tiles. Like their first apartment, their first shower, when Zayn shoved Harry against them too hard.  
  
And even when they get yelled at by a TSA officer for running through the airport terminal, that being newlyweds doesn't excuse them, well. It's perfect then, too.

 

 

   

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you liked it :)
> 
> Endless thanks to Jasmine, for holding my hand yet again, as I work my way through a story.
> 
>  
> 
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